Perception
by CampionSayn
Summary: The war is over, Bulkhead is afraid to watch Miko's Disney movies and there is some compelling urge going on to keep Knock Out from harm or haul him back to get fixed when he scratches himself up to relieve grief. One-shot.


Title: Perception  
Summary: The war is over, Bulkhead is afraid to watch Miko's Disney movies and there is some compelling urge going on to keep Knock Out from harm or haul him back to get fixed when he scratches himself up to relieve grief. One-shot.  
Disclaimer: It's implied already; I don't own any characters or franchise and make no money from writing this.  
Warning: Originally, this started as an attempt to enlarge the Starscream/Bulkhead OTP going on, but ended up as a half-assed Bulkhead/Knock Out/Starscream with hints to Breakdown/Knock Out if one were to squint.

* * *

_Them? Us. Look at them; they __**are**__ us. What differences do you see?  
-The Lion King 2._

* * *

i.

Watching human movies with Miko was dangerous. Most of the Autobots didn't mind them and sat down with her on occasion when she brought something in about female drama, or a countdown to save a life, or dead rising from the ground to consume the living because of events set in motion; or something involving anthropomorphic animals that could talk and was animated for viewing pleasure. They sat and they watch and they—often times—asked questions once it was over and riled Miko and the boys up because "How and why and should this have happened?" and "Why can't you just sit back and enjoy these things without over-analyzing everything?!"

Bulkhead, truthfully didn't mind most of the lot, except for the last of the choices. Humans performing live meant very little to him because actors did this to get paid and to fulfill a quota for a branch industry of movies to be made for a larger audience; live movies were a dime a dozen and took, most times, only a year or so to complete while maintaining a budget. Animated features, on the other hand, were creations of art to give a powerful message—usually directed in simplicity for young children, but with a message giving because the artists put their sweat, blood and tears into creating moving pictures that could speak and would be enjoyed much longer than the average piece of junk.

The animated films were dangerous and he tried his best to avoid them lest he get caught actually taking the movie's message to spark and considering over them for a prolonged period of time. Especially these '_Disney'_ movies that basically encompassed all continents and crossed social divides very easily.

So he made himself more useful around the base when Miko came in with those particulars; made himself scarce to the eye and ear. He helped Ratchet—whom almost never could be coaxed into watching anything with the kids that wasn't some medical drama so he could critique almost everything shown (the series _ER_ had taken less criticism than most, though)—with cleaning the med-bay and polishing the tools with more care than was standard for the Wrecker. He took over patrol for Bumblebee so he could enjoy the movies with those bright blue optics taking in everything that he would have missed if Bulkhead didn't notice him sulking in the entrance to the base while Raf and Jack bemoaned having to watch _Mulan_; the large green mech patting the yellow Autobot with far less force than normal as he left with the bug chirping in thanks. He actually herded Smokescreen, Arcee and Wheeljack into the living area to convince them for Miko that they would like watching the movie _Bambi_ despite what the human boys said; sneaking back outside and later coming back to find all three Autobots looking traumatized and echoing over each other "I thought that sort of thing wasn't allowed in these films? How could the mother have gotten shot?"

His luck ran out, as luck often does, when Miko whined for seven hours and convinced him to plant himself in one spot so she could watch all the _Lion_ _King_ movies with him and then talk about them at the end. The end, somehow, ran an hour well after her bed-time, so that hope was mute and he just ended up tucking her into one of the sleeping bags she had stored away, left her on the sofa in as comfortable a position as he thought she could have on the thing and then wandered off to think over one particular message embedded in the _Lion King 2_.

* * *

ii.

The day nobody ever thought happened came to pass on a day on Earth that was wet as the underside of a mountain rock next to the ocean. Bulkhead almost felt like he was under one of those rocks with the creepy-crawly things made of white disgust and red vision; his optics glancing around the base as Optimus gave a speech—long winded and full of the promise of good things to come for all Transformers—that involved very little mention of sides belonging to Decepticons and Autobots. Ultra Magnus stood beside the Prime and what remained of Megatron's army stood around, half appearing defeated and half seeming hopeful that what Optimus was saying would be true.

All sides seemed to come to the unanimous conclusion that they didn't want to fight anymore and would, mostly, take up residence on Earth and try to get on in a way that wouldn't lead to the continuance of loss of life among what still remained of the Cybertronians.

Bulkhead mostly tuned out what Optimus said so he could pear around at the faces that remained. The 'Cons were far more interesting without that fight in them than the words that seemed old and pointless by that point.

Starscream sat at the far end of the room like an injured bird, long talons picking at his cracked wings and the wires that would be put back together by Ratchet or Knock Out; injuries the last parting gift before Megatron finally bought it and giving Starscream the air of sadness that seemed near tangible from where the Wrecker stood, blue optics tracing over lines in Starscream's left wing that bore resemblance to ancient Chinese portraits of wisteria trees about to die. It gave Bulkhead a weird feeling to actually see the Seeker vulnerable among old enemies, but he made no move toward him and settled for reminding himself to make sure that after taking Wheeljack into Ratchet (dumb kid, he'd passed out on the field from loss of Energon and Bulkhead had to drag him in an hour before, but he wasn't exactly in danger of going offline just yet) for fixing to bring Starscream in over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Even if the Seeker would probably shriek at him like a sparkling for it.

His helm tilted left and blue settled on the cherry red of Knock Out eyeing the scratches on his paintjob that would take days to buff out; his whole figure lonely in itself without Breakdown towering behind him and saying things to the nature of "It ain't so bad, bud. I'll help you out once the windbag stops yakking," or "Hey, at least you get to wind down and relax real good, right?"

The thought made Bulkhead uncomfortable and he could actually hear a line from Miko's Disney movies bounce around in his processor until he groaned out and Prime confused it for the green mech informing him of what everyone was thinking in that he was boring them all into an early rust; it wasn't his intention, but Bulkhead received a pat on the back from Bumblebee two minutes later when Prime wrapped it up and they were all dismissed for the med-bay or wherever they wished to go.

Bulkhead remained behind—frankly, his form didn't make exiting first among all the others much of an option without smashing them into the ground or wall—until everyone but a few Vehicons as well and Starscream and Knock Out remained, taking lowly about the war's end and their new lodgings.

The cherry colored medic ceased talking to Starscream when he saw Bulkhead looking at them, a look splaying over his face that could melt paint off of a lesser mech. Stepping outside was something Bulkhead would have done one way or another, but he did it faster under the gaze of Knock Out, with no look back that would have lead to his own jawline giving either a sneer or a huff.

The war was over, he kept repeating to himself; it would be best if they tried to get along.

* * *

iii.

Knock Out was rather self-destructive and Bulkhead often found himself doing patrols that were no long needed just so he could garner an idea of where Knock Out would turn up next.

There always seemed to be one particular area out in the lowlands Bulkhead would spot the mech, with little traffic but still had a bus stop stationed on a street corner with grass growing around everywhere and a bench that had long discarded clothing hidden underneath it which, probably, had belonged to a teen couple that had forgotten a pair of pants, a ragged old hockey jersey and a black lace bra that now had three dandelions growing through the holes in the lacing.

He had trained himself to ignore the clothing and focus on the scent of burnt tires on tarmac that seemed to always lead in a straight line to Knock Out passed out in a ditch out of his own vehicle mode; scuffs along his lining and disappointment fixed on his face when Bulkhead always poked him awake and said, "You're worse than Smokescreen and Bumblebee; I swear to Primus."

"And you're the worst substitute Breakdown ever…"

His hands were just the right size for hauling the smaller mech off of the ground (gravel really was not a pleasant sound in the audio receptors when mixed with the screeching against transformation seems along the arms and legs) and onto his shoulder or in the princess position (Miko was really dangerous to be around; her ideas were worse than space barnacles and they latched on for twice the length of time) to take him back to base in the form of a walk so as not to jostle anything that might have come loose when he'd crashed.

Some of the signs on billboards still retained most of their words and images and often, regrettably, Bulkhead would focus on the one in the distance that had sugar cookies painted with smiling faces until Knock Out spoke up again like a drunk human, sharp fingers digging into his shoulder struts when the sounds of planes overhead—this time it was most definitely Starscream come to be harsh on Knock Out again—became obnoxiously close. It didn't hurt; it just left scratches that Bulkhead didn't care about.

Sometimes Knock Out draw pictures from the scratches that Bulkhead would have Ratchet photograph before fixing and, sometimes, it included words like "Thank you," or "You're a tool," or "Too fragging stupid; gonna get yourself killed," along with images that bore a kindergartener's attempt at a familiar, ex-Wrecker's face, a hammer, or little hearts and triangles.

It was something to do.


End file.
